


Strange Bedfellas

by Zaniida



Series: Mature Readers Only [7]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Additional Tags in End Note, Alpha Anthony Marconi, Alpha John Reese, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Discussion of Rape, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Omega Carl Elias, Omega Harold Finch, Omegaverse, Overprotective John, Pheromones, Rape Culture, Sex-Positive Culture (mostly), Significant Worldbuilding, offscreen sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida
Summary: If John could have had his way, Harold would never even leave thelibraryalone.  When Harold balked at the idea that an omega needed an escort, they’d end up arguing; protective instincts as strong as John’s made it hard to let the matter go.When John had first learned that Harold had set up regular meetings with Elias, he’d gone nearly apoplectic.  But Harold had grown to like Elias -- despite their differences, it was hard not to.  He felt comfortable in his presence.  And if neglecting to inform John of their meetings could postpone the argument... well, John was his pack-mate, not his bond-mate, and had no call to be setting boundaries on Harold's activities.





	1. Pushing Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elbowsinsidethedoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/gifts).



> **elbowsinsidethedoor** , I hope this doesn't stray outside of your comfort zone (too terribly much), but have a present: My first Omegaverse fic!
> 
>  
> 
> So... worldbuilding. This is very strongly in the Dub-Con, if not Non-Con, arena. However, according to my worldbuilding, it is _not_ a story about rape... and I'm gonna have to take some time to establish how this works, so bear with me:
> 
> I tried my best to establish the concept in-story, within the first few paragraphs, by referring to an example of what this culture considers rape -- which is not merely "forced sex." This is meant to contrast the action of the story, which is a sexual encounter that overrides consent, but that the culture within the story does not consider to be that big a deal (and that the "victim" of the trick is not the least bit traumatized by).
> 
> I used the Omegaverse setting to try to make a highly sex-positive world, where unbonded Alphas and omegas hook up all the time, to take care of their ruts and heats, respectively -- and where nobody really cares about indiscriminate sexual encounters. There's no social shame directed at casual sex, and practically no concept of virginity: If you're still a virgin after your second rut/heat, you're perceived as slightly odd, but it's no big deal either way.
> 
> A truly sex-positive worldbuild requires some significant changes to get rid of the negative consequences of sex IRL. I used biology to accomplish as much as I could. Due to pheromones, there's no pedophilia, no incest; STIs are rare, and tend to make their carriers produce scents that warn prospective mates away. There's no concept of "cheating" as such: Bonded A/o pairs naturally feel like staying monogamous, but allow for complications (e.g. an omega whose Alpha is in the hospital or in the service will share his heat with a friend or stranger, no worries), while Betas in relationships with Alphas or omegas understand that they can't satisfy a rut or a heat, and accept their mates having hormone-driven sex with a different partner a few times a year.
> 
> Rut pheromones and heat pheromones trigger strong biological responses in nearby unbonded mates, so it's not the least unusual to revert to caveman (cavewolf?) brain and hop into bed with a stranger or even a social enemy. _And_ the way that A/o hormonal sex handles instincts means it's pretty much impossible to harm, or even cause significant pain to, your partner during a session. (Painplay is a thing that can only happen outside a rut/heat encounter.) There is one slight caveat to this, but it is rare enough that most healthy people don't even worry about it.
> 
> So (at least in A/o pairs) "forced sex" is not a concept in this world. You can't really harm someone, physically or emotionally or socially, by tricking them into sex or forcing them into a sexual encounter. Doing so is considered roughly equivalent to shoving two people into a closet and expecting them to make out -- might be annoying, maybe something to apologize for later, but not really a serious ethical failing.
> 
> Betas, obviously, aren't getting controlled by their hormones in the same way, but I think the A/o culture affects them. When the strongest testosterone hunks are being _super caring_ with their sexual partners, during the time that they're most out of control, where would Betas pick up the idea about being harmful to _their_ partners?
> 
> What this culture considers "rape" is **forced bonding** : It's an Alpha overriding an omega's free will _during_ a sexual encounter, and creating a biological effect that binds them together for a significant amount of time, and which, if interfered with, causes long-term health effects and emotional distress for the omega, which can even lead to depression and suicide. Due to the biology, the omega is incapable of consenting to a bond when the opportunity is present; it has to be talked out ahead of time (until the modern era, the omega's consent was rarely considered a factor). And this can't even happen with strangers; bonds only become possible after 3-4 encounters, spaced out a bit, so that the hormones can prepare the omega for the bond. At least as far as A/o pairs go, "stranger rape" is impossible and "date rape" can only occur a ways into the relationship.
> 
> Also, the laws are super strict about rape: An Alpha who force-bonds an omega (that is, bonds him without securing his consent ahead of time) is guaranteed a severe penalty, including long-term prison stay. And omegas are rarely if ever doubted over this claim, since it would be really difficult for an omega to turn against his Alpha if the bond were willing on both sides. (Not all parts of society have caught up to this standard, but at least _something_ is working to protect rape victims.)
> 
> Hope that clarifies things! On with the story ^_^

If John could have had his way, Harold would never even leave the _library_ alone. When the issue got raised -- as it did in cases like their latest -- Harold sometimes wished that he could just show throat and claim he’d stick to safe locations... but that would have broken his promise to never lie to John. Yet when he balked at the idea that an omega needed an escort, they’d end up arguing; protective instincts as strong as John’s made it hard to let the matter go.

Tonight, as Harold watched from afar while John freed the trembling omega, he knew that the argument would raise its head again, as soon as John returned. Such a commonly held fallacy: _He shouldn’t have been out alone_. It sounded logical, rational -- after all, a rogue Alpha could hardly have snatched their Number off the streets if he’d stayed in the protection of his pack. Leave by yourself, leave yourself open to attack.

And the omega they’d “rescued” would pay for that mistake, merely because of his biology. Once the story broke, there would doubtless be many who said that it served him right.

Over three weeks in captivity, he’d been induced into sympathetic heats by the Alpha, who’d used black-market chemicals to trigger his own ruts. The hormone baths of frequent heat sex had rapidly transformed the omega’s brain chemistry; willing or not, his body had gotten ready for the Alpha to initiate a bond. By the time John tracked them down, it was too late:

The omega had been raped.

They’d turned the Alpha over to the cops (after John had made his displeasure somewhat clearer than normal -- and Harold hadn’t blamed him or tried to rein him in). The laws were clear, and his lengthy incarceration was assured, but that was cold comfort to a newly bonded omega whose body yearned for the scent of his mate. The miasma of his distress would make it difficult for even friends and family to be around him very long, not when there was nothing that could be done to ease his suffering. A soldier or businessman might send home unwashed clothing for his omega to cuddle with, but in this case such a kindness would merely prolong the agony: It took months of total abstinence to break a bond, and any renewed scent could lengthen the process to years -- even decades.

And the statistics were grim: The process of breaking the bond caused chemical imbalances and drastic hormonal shifts, in most cases leading to clinical depression. Suicides were common, and why not? Being a rape victim meant being shunned by most of your pack and unable to trust your own brain, unable to lead a normal life for months, if not years. There were medical treatments that could lessen the severity, but they were expensive, and many insurance companies refused to cover them. And then the media went hunting for the type of omegas who held to the Just World Hypothesis, making it sound like getting raped was entirely the victim’s fault.

Such a comforting fallacy -- _if I do everything right, it won’t happen to me!_ \-- but still a fallacy. It shifted the blame to the wrong party, and made omegas scared to lead normal lives.

Harold did sympathize with John’s urge to keep Harold safe, to keep him from suffering a similar fate. Hadn’t he already been kidnapped, more than twice? And he still wouldn’t learn to handle a gun, or even carry a Taser. If anyone did try to take him, Harold was defenseless; John’s worries weren’t exactly unreasonable.

Even so, Harold didn’t fear going through the city on his own. He certainly didn’t fear rowdy Alphas; the ones who preferred to plant their seed and move on were still looking for mates healthy enough to carry a pup. Being well past breeding prime _and_ visibly injured rendered him practically invisible. The limp, in particular, turned their attention away: If one Alpha had already rejected him, no other would be interested.

Sometimes Harold longed to set the record straight -- rut rejection was hardly the only way to damage one’s leg -- but mostly he just appreciated the freedom to stay beneath people’s notice. It was useful to their endeavors.

So the chance of getting deliberately singled out seemed remote. And while a stray Alpha in rut might normally have been a concern, Harold’s suppression patch made it easy to resist the pheromones, gave him time to get out of the area. Even if that failed, it was just sex -- a few hours lost to mindless physical pleasure. At times, when the ache in his neck got particularly vicious, he thought back wistfully on those days of waking up in a stranger’s arms, feeling well used and sticky and blissed out on a rush of dopamine and oxytocin.

Since getting out of Backwoods, Mid America, he’d always had that outlet. In MIT, it was his social circle that set him up with likely Alphas; once he'd met Nathan, no additional Alphas were needed. After Nathan finally left him for Olivia (who, unlike Harold, was willing to bond for good), Harold had dealt with his less-than-rational emotions by creating FirstMate, a service that catered to the unbonded, and then used the site to match him with random strangers, anonymously.

By the time Grace entered his life, his heats had dwindled to four or five a year; she’d drive him to the Alphas and pick him up after they’d triggered the release he needed. The rest of the time, her quiet support and some bottled pheromones kept him on an even keel -- and in the bedroom, she provoked an enjoyment quite different from anything the Alphas could give him. He missed that -- though, of course, nowhere near as much as he missed _her_.

After the bombing, Harold had been too busy and too broken to cater to his physical needs. So for the past three and a half years, he'd done without the connection that his body was designed for. Were he to hook up now, it wouldn't be as an antidote to boredom or stress, or a distraction from his emotions over his separation from Nathan; it would be pure pain relief, the natural kind, with no lasting side effects after the pheromone haze faded and they came to themselves again, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and went their separate ways.

Of course, there were two reasons he couldn't risk a hookup these days. Rut rejection, though increasingly rare, was still a worry: Some combination of scent and health and the pre-existing relationship factored into a mostly instinctual judgment, the Alpha deciding whether or not the mate was worthy. And if the Alpha accepted him despite his existing injuries -- despite the fact that he could barely tilt his head enough to show throat -- their first mating would let the Alpha scent-track him through a crowd. It was an unacceptable security risk, especially given the number of safe houses he maintained throughout the city.

So it had made sense to take up suppression patches. As each new doctor warned him, it wasn't precisely healthy to use them long-term, but then again, he didn't figure he had a long term to look forward to. The meds that flooded his system were designed to level out his cycle, eliminating regular heats and mood swings (though, it must be said, leaving him slightly irritable _all the time_ ). The hormone shift slightly increased the chance of osteoporosis, and, on a more noticeable level, reduced his ability to sense and respond to Alpha pheromones -- which all but eliminated the physical comfort he should have gotten from hanging around Alphas like John. But then, daily comfort was no longer a priority.

Occasionally, when he noticed John looking particularly handsome, or when a case left the agent stressed and out of sorts, Harold felt a little regret for having pack-bonded with him so early into their relationship. What might it be like for them, if they could give each other pleasure and relief, respond to each other physically the way most Alphas and omegas could? But just as an Alpha felt no compulsion over the heat pheromones of an omega too closely related to him, an Alpha felt no attraction toward an omega of higher rank within the same pack -- and John had accepted Harold as his pack leader almost from the day they met. Biology held sway: The deep, enduring friendship between him and John would never turn sexual, never develop into a bond.

And since no bond meant no element of control or possession, Harold found it rather irritating when John tried to set boundaries he didn’t have the right to demand. As pack leader, Harold was the one who should have been setting boundaries, and John had rarely chosen to abide by them. But the insubordination and the incursions into his privacy didn’t bother Harold quite so much as John’s intrusive protectiveness; it rankled when people thought of omegas as helpless, more so when the person with that mindset was his partner.

John was particularly intransigent when it came to Carl Elias. And yes, Harold understood the unease: Their interactions with the crime lord had provided benefits far more often than it had cost them anything, but still, given their history, they could never find him _trustworthy_. John still bristled at any reminder of the incident where Elias had used a pup’s life as a bargaining chip -- justifying it with the excuse that John had obviously pack-bonded with the pup while they’d been protecting her, and an Alpha would never allow a pup he’d bonded with to come to harm. (How an omega could even threaten a pup’s life to begin with was a question Harold was left to contemplate, in the aftermath.)

Still, although Elias could do terrible things in service to his goals, using the sort of justifications that Harold couldn’t fathom, and, although he was never exactly predictable, he and Harold had gotten to a place of mutual respect, or nearly so. In the absence of trust, they’d gotten to know each other, one omega to another, and Harold had grown to like Elias -- despite their differences, it was hard _not_ to. And after all they’d been through together, Harold felt comfortable in his presence.

Their friendship had started, oddly enough, in desperation: Harold seeking Elias’s help, knowing that he couldn’t refuse whatever price Elias demanded. The omega had surprised him by asking for nothing more than a chess partner -- then used their regular matches not, as Harold had anticipated, to pry into their secrets, but rather to parcel out information. His carefully worded advice had repeatedly helped them, given them the right nudge to close out a few cases with greater safety and relative ease.

Occasionally, Elias referred to a debt -- one he never tried to collect on. Harold was past worrying that they were somehow paving the way for another power grab; by now, it seemed clear that the mob boss wasn’t helping them for his own benefit. Their efforts at reducing crime in the city seemed valuable enough that Elias was willing to aid them without cost -- not that he’d admit it.

When John had first learned that Harold had set up regular meetings with Elias, he’d gone nearly apoplectic; the knowledge that prison-guard Alphas would be closely monitoring their sessions hadn’t done much to mollify him. Now, with Elias out in the open again, and Harold visiting him somewhat randomly between cases, Harold simply neglected to inform John of the meetings.

When he returned, John would scent Elias on his clothes, and smolder for a while, even try to make Harold feel guilty for going behind his back. But the reaction was far less intense than when he knew ahead of time -- and they both understood that. After all, the meeting was over and Harold was safe, and no amount of blustering would keep him from pulling the same stunt the next time he felt like it.

It wasn’t like Harold didn’t take precautions. Once he was in Elias’s company, he was safe enough; with the crime lord’s guards around, the only possible danger was Elias himself. But there was always the chance that one of their many enemies had discovered the connection and was using it to lure one of them (or both of them) into a trap. Which was, of course, why they’d established some code words, and why Harold never headed over without confirming, via video chat, that Elias had sent the message himself -- and not under duress.

Tonight, the text came in just as John was wrapping up a second case, halfway across the city. The address was familiar, nearby: one of the mobster’s classier safe houses. Elias had invited him to dinner, and had something to discuss.

Having verified the message with Elias, Harold pulled up the security feeds for the streets around the safe house, and studied them carefully, considering. A night in the comfort and relative safety of Elias’s company was undeniably enticing. The thought of dinner held its own appeal: He’d been so busy trying to track down the captive omega that he couldn’t recall eating anything since Reese had brought him donuts that morning. As for the second case, it seemed tame enough; John had insisted that he could handle it on his own, that Harold take a break for once.

Given that leeway, and the lack of additional numbers, it wasn’t a difficult decision.

It was a bit dark to go through his usual safety steps, but he had the cab drop him off a few blocks from the destination, and he stuck to lighted streets until he was standing by the mansion itself. No one seemed to be around, so Harold ducked into the back yard. He wasn’t even up the steps before the door swung open and he was greeted with Elias’s wide grin.

* * *

* * * *

They spent a good hour in the luxurious living room, sipping tea and discussing literature, classic films, and modern music. Now and then, they’d exchange anecdotes about recent events in their respective enterprises, neither one revealing an ounce more than they intended to. It felt invigorating, the dance of two wordsmiths, weaving around their secrets while occasionally, gently, trying (and generally failing) to worm their way into the other’s mysteries.

Harold didn’t miss the way Elias’s eyes occasionally darted up, just for a second, to the clock on the wall behind Harold. And as the hour stretched on, Harold found it less and less likely that he was merely timing something in the oven.

It was possible, as it always was, that Elias planned to use him to control John. But if Elias had wanted to capture him, well, at any point he could have grabbed Harold off the street -- just pull up beside him and tell him to get inside, which Harold would sigh and do, because the alternative was being forced into the car by Elias’s pet Alphas. That was part of the reason that Harold rarely made a fuss about coming over. And whatever else Elias had planned, there was only one thing for it: Wait and see.

When Harold’s stomach rumbled, Elias got to his feet. “I’m afraid we’ve a little matter to attend to before dinner,” he said, inviting Harold to join him. They strolled past the kitchen and down the hallway, continuing a comfortable banter. Elias took up a position to Harold’s left, a short half-step behind him, barely in peripheral vision.

Unable to comfortably turn his head that far, Harold felt anxiety bubble up inside him; he pushed it down, like so many other reactions that he was used to burying as needed. If Elias were planning to do anything, it wasn’t likely that Harold would be able to fend him off.

As they rounded the corner to a heavy-looking door covered in thick carvings, Harold felt Elias’s hand rest lightly on the back of his neck. Stiffening, he swallowed, but didn’t try to get free; he couldn’t keep his breath from coming just a bit faster, though.

“Harold,” Elias said gently, “I genuinely admire the work you two do to protect the city. You and John are some of the best forces for good in this world, and it’s a crime that you have to operate from the shadows like the rest of us lowlifes.”

“I… wasn’t aware that you saw yourself that way,” Harold said carefully. For all his schemes, Elias tended to hold himself in higher esteem than the common criminal, always seeing his actions as motivated by some greater good that could never be achieved in a properly legal fashion. It was one of those ideas that gave Harold pause to wonder how, exactly, he and Elias differed, and whether the difference was in kind, or simply in degree.

“Well,” Elias said, giving Harold’s neck a quick squeeze, “tonight I feel a little less easy with some of the choices I’ve had to make. Not that I would change them, mind you. But even so….” There was the barest note of regret in his voice.

Harold took in a breath. “Is this where you plan to kill me?” he asked, no emotion in his words. Unlikely as the scenario was, it felt like something that needed to be acknowledged: They were on opposing teams right now. Probably.

“May it never come to that,” Elias said, and that much seemed sincere: Elias would certainly kill them if he thought it necessary, but not without regret. His hand still rested on Harold’s neck, not very heavy, but commanding all of his attention.

“Use me to get at John? Try to learn more about the source of our information?”

Elias chuckled, but the amusement rang hollow. “Not this time, I’m afraid. No, the purpose for which I brought you here is… a little more mundane.”

Harold barely caught the last words through the hitch in his breath, because Elias had just slipped a thumb inside Harold’s collar, rubbing it straight over his bonding gland.

“I thought about asking you,” Elias was saying, “and only using force if you said no. But doing it that way would be pretending to be a better man than I am. And it seems insulting for me to be that hypocritical.”

Shuddering, Harold found himself leaning into Elias’s touch as the rubbing got more insistent. His arms were going slack, but his mind was racing: Elias hadn’t brought him here for himself. There was someone else here, someone he was just starting to catch scent of, an Alpha whose rut pheromones were slowly wafting into the room. To his conscious mind, it was a warning to get out of there -- but to his body, it signified a lot of other things.

It was the barest hint of pheromones, so far; he could still get out of there. But Elias’s firm grip on his neck promised even stronger measures if Harold didn’t meekly comply. And despite the complications, Harold wanted to yield -- but that was only natural. For three and a half years, he’d been denying himself the connection that he was designed for; now here it was, waiting for him, asking for his participation. Mouth dry, he swallowed, and closed his eyes, swaying on his feet.

Elias swung him around a little and brought their foreheads together. “I’m… truly sorry that it’s come to this,” he said, and held him there for a moment. “If it were possible to ensure your safety, I would.”

Dizzy, too warm, Harold panted, bringing in the scent that much faster -- the tones of regret in Elias’s pheromones barely noticeable beneath Harold’s growing awareness of the Alpha on the other side of that door.

With his free hand, Elias unlocked the door and shoved it open, partway. Harold felt himself drowning in a pool of scent; his mouth hung open, drinking it in. Maybe he could have kept his head a little longer were it not for Elias’s thumb rubbing insistently over his bonding gland, rapidly stripping him down to the essence of his biology. He could feel the stretch of his pupils as they expanded, and suddenly everything was too sharp, too bright. His Alpha was in there, waiting for him -- wanted him, needed him -- and there was never any question of resisting: He would go.

Elias was murmuring more apologies, but Harold couldn’t understand why. He lurched into the room, barely feeling Elias’s hand leave his neck before another grabbed him by the throat, needy, controlling. Anthony. Of course it was Anthony; who else would Elias care about enough to go to this extreme?

Tilting his head back as far as it could go, Harold showed throat, accepting his role. It was all up to his Alpha now: claim him and accept the mating, or reject him and scar him as a defective. He closed his eyes, calmly awaiting judgment.

A nuzzle at the side of his neck and a light nip brought a smile to his lips as his body relaxed into his Alpha’s embrace. He’d missed this too, the pleasure of knowing that he’d been found acceptable. At this moment, he knew that this was everything he wanted in his life: to be with his Alpha, to explore each other’s bodies, piece by piece, until finally the tension mounted to the right level and his Alpha claimed him, merged with him, let them -- for a few hours -- become one.

Nothing else would ever matter.


	2. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It had been three and a half years since he’d enjoyed the touch of another human being, more than fifteen since an Alpha had cared enough for his emotional state to stick around after waking up. Right now, he was vulnerable enough to want it, badly, and if he could blame any part of that on the pheromones, it’d be the way that their calming effect made it hard to care about the implications of his desire or the possible complications of giving in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, y'all! It's been a wild ride, and I'm glad to have shared it with you; may we have many more shared stories to come =^.^=

Harold woke with Anthony’s arms curled around him, supporting his neck and taking some of the pressure off of his back. He felt muzzy, still in thrall to the waning pheromones of lust and satisfaction that wafted off his Alpha, keeping him calm and pliant in a haze of comfort and residual pleasure. In the afterglow, even their breaths matched pace.

It was only now, as he gradually came back to himself, that he could take note of the room around them, the details he had missed while focused on biological necessity. The bed beneath him was soft, the thread count of the crumpled sheet luxurious; it was almost to the quality he bought for his own beds in the various safe houses he maintained. It was large, too; Harold had gotten used to sleeping on Deltas, but this mattress was at least an Alpha, more likely Packleader; he could have stretched out his leg in either direction and not even touched the edge. And the room was pleasantly warm, so their lack of blankets hardly mattered.

Light was dancing in through the high windows, windows the outside world couldn’t look through but which offered a decoratively obstructed view of the sky. From the angle of the shadows down the wall, he judged it to be mid-morning; that matched the sounds of the city that he was just starting to pick up on, muffled as they were through good, solid walls.

The recollections of last night were similarly muffled; that was normal enough. Closing his eyes, he picked up on flashes: _the warmth of Anthony’s breath; the taste of his sweat, his skin; the vibration of his laugh when Harold’s nose found a ticklish spot on the side of his ribcage. The stretch of Harold’s neck when Anthony nuzzled into his shoulder, instinctively mindful of the omega’s more obvious injuries. The Alpha’s muscular arms lifting Harold slightly as they guided him backwards, blind but trusting, until his legs hit the bed and the two of them tumbled down, Anthony catching himself so his full weight didn’t land on his partner. The concern in his eyebrows over Harold’s pain when the impact jarred his neck a bit._

_Anthony’s hands running over his skin…_

Frowning, Harold raised a hand to the back of his neck, recalling those calloused fingers finding the insensitive strands of scar tissue, exploring them with exceeding gentleness. Aside from medical professionals, Anthony was the first to have touched him there since the bombing; it felt somehow more intimate than the sex, and Harold felt a lump in his throat as he tried to process his faint, muted emotions. The lingering pheromones made it physically impossible for him to be truly distressed right now, but he wondered how he’d feel once they wore off.

He wondered how he _wanted_ to feel.

As the hormonal haze receded and the normal aches and pains slowly asserted themselves back into his awareness -- mildly, and that blessed effect would last for hours -- Harold felt the unmistakable evidence of last night’s activities. Some of the classical literature he’d grown up on, the more romantic tales, referred to it as ‘the twin tendernesses’: the tender affection for your partner, along with the tender ache of a body that had been perfectly filled to capacity.

It felt… strange, to get to enjoy that feeling again. Welcome, certainly, but… unexpected. Since the bombing, he hadn’t had time for it, even after getting his legs back under him. Besides which, on a purely physical level, he simply wasn’t healthy enough to make for a compelling mate -- even for a night. That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t have found one, but, much as omegas gravitated toward Alphas strong enough to protect their litter, Alphas gravitated toward megs who could match them in the bed furs -- take whatever they cared to dish out -- and who could carry healthy pups through a full pregnancy. Logically, most hookups would never lead to a bond, let alone a pup, so the preference for health didn’t make as much sense as it had in the past, but while the centuries had worn away many other objections (class, race, age, and even, to a large degree, physical appearance), the prejudice against disabilities remained.

That was, of course, one of the reasons that Harold wore prescription heat patches: every twenty-six days, a new flux of drugs to level out his hormonal cycle and keep his biology, by and large, at bay. In fact… the patches were also supposed to reduce an omega’s response to Alpha pheromones. Now that he was clear-headed enough to think about it… he shouldn’t have had that reaction to Anthony’s scent in the air. Not that strong, that fast -- that immediate.

Elias had almost certainly drugged him.

Putting your biology into hibernation had its drawbacks: Even when used properly, suppressants raised a few mild health risks. Still, a three-month break every other year reduced the risks to negligible (and even without that break, the risks weren’t significantly worse than a poor diet or a sedentary lifestyle). It was the _transition_ that held the most potential for complications; the safest method was to let it happen naturally, just let the patch run out and give your body a good month and a half to get things back in working order.

For some people, though, it just wasn’t fast enough. Anti-suppressants were aimed at those who wanted to get to the puppy stage a little faster than was strictly advisable; the pharmaceutical companies had found a way to pull the suppressants out of an omega’s system and counteract some of the lingering effects. The latest breakthrough, Omegarin, could get the engine running at full speed in hours instead of weeks.

Given how Elias’s eyes had been chasing the clock, that was probably the culprit. Elias had waited a good hour for the drug to clean out Harold’s system before bringing him to Anthony -- and he’d probably added a second drug to the mix, ensuring that Harold’s biological responses had been potent and swift. No wonder he’d lost his head so quickly.

Anthony nuzzled into the back of his neck, on the cusp of waking up, and Harold smiled fondly as the motion released more pheromones. For the moment, he was calm and reasonably content -- physically incapable of getting mad at Elias. Later on, though, he expected to have some strong words for the crime lord. Beyond the consent issues, beyond the inherent risk of strong-arming his biological responses like that… there was no possible way that Elias could’ve gotten his hands on Harold’s medical information. Which meant that he wouldn’t have been able to check for possible drug interactions.

The ads for NoseRenew and Omegarin were laden with warnings that had lodged in Harold’s brain through sheer repetition: _Tell your doctor if you are on blood pressure medication or anti-coagulants. While on Omegarin, you should not take pseudoephedrine or phenylephrine, ingredients in common nasal decongestants such as Sudafed. Do not take Omegarin if you have been on suppressants for less than six months; rare but serious side effects may occur._

True, Elias could have ruled out some of the risks through scent alone: Harold had been on suppressants since before they’d met, and Sudafed was easy to pick up on if you’d taken it in the past 48 hours or so. But he should have guessed that blood-pressure medication was part of Harold’s daily regimen, given his age and the kind of stress he labored under (and Harold made a mental note to look up repercussions as soon as he got back to the library… possibly sooner).

Actually, knowing Elias, he probably _had_ guessed, and decided that the risk was negligible -- which was probably true, but wasn’t his call to make. Besides which, even if Harold didn’t care, John wasn’t going to be happy that there had been a risk in the first place.

And they’d been out of contact for hours.

Sighing, Harold rubbed the mobster’s arm, a little disappointed to have to leave the warm, comfortable position he was in quite this early. But he had things to do: Locate his phone, connect with John, explain where he was, find out if they’d been given a Number.

Find his clothes. That might be a good place to start.

When he gently tried to reposition Anthony’s arm, he felt a shudder run through the Alpha’s body, and the hold tightened briefly, convulsively, like a sleeping cat. But a moment later, the arms relaxed, and Anthony sighed.

“So,” the mobster murmured, the warm air tickling Harold’s neck, “how angry should I be at the boss?”

Harold couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“He get your approval for this?”

“Invited me over for dinner, drugged me, lured me down the hallway, and shoved me into this room. The only part I’d agreed to was the dinner.” Harold frowned. “Which, I might add, he hasn’t yet provided.” The mating hormones had made food the last thing on his mind, but that effect wouldn’t last much longer, especially with all the energy they’d expended on the mating. The last time he’d eaten had been yesterday morning, and not a great meal at that; he guessed it’d be less than half an hour before the hormones wore off and he turned absolutely _ravenous_.

Anthony huffed and gently removed his arm. “Didn’t figure you’d go off patches for a guy like me.”

“No,” Harold replied softly, without rancor. “No, I wouldn’t.”

As Harold moved to get up, Anthony shifted slightly, supporting Harold perfectly so that he could sit up with far less strain than the movement normally cost him. That was the instincts kicking in: They knew each other’s bodies now, at a level deeper than conscious thought. Pheromone feedback was far more direct and immediate than anything grasped by the conscious mind, and in the throes of a heat or a rut, the body tuned in to the partner’s reactions. Any moment of distress or pain would’ve been obvious, instantly; they would have backed off and found another way to accomplish the goal, without exacerbating Harold’s injuries or, well, whatever Anthony had brought to the bed furs. During a first mating, the couple was hormonally invested in each other’s pleasure, and in the aftermath they’d be similarly invested in each other’s welfare; the benefit might be short-lived, but it was a pleasant bubble to exist in, nonetheless.

As Harold sat on the edge of the bed, grateful for the temporary abatement of the pain he dealt with on a daily basis, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his partner. It was a scent his brain associated with pleasure and simple human connection, although that would fade before the day was out. For now, he was willing to just enjoy the comfort.

“You mind a little cuddling?” Anthony asked mildly, and Harold blinked at the disconnect between the words and the man speaking them -- a man who had, at Elias’s behest, planted bombs, shot people, kidnapped Carter’s pup, and recently strangled a man to death in his own hospital bed. (That the man was Carter’s killer seemed beside the point.) Beyond their biological connection, Harold couldn’t see a single point of commonality between them -- except, perhaps, for the unflagging loyalty that the Alpha displayed toward his friend and pack leader. The thought of ‘cuddling’ with a man as ruthless as Anthony Marconi--

He gave in. It had been three and a half years since he’d enjoyed the touch of another human being, more than fifteen since an Alpha had cared enough for his emotional state to stick around after waking up. Right now, he was vulnerable enough to want it, badly, and if he could blame any part of that on the pheromones, it’d be the way that their calming effect made it hard to care about the implications of his desire or the possible complications of giving in.

As Harold leaned backward, Anthony swiftly moved in to support his back and neck with gentle arms as he wrapped his warm body around Harold’s. For an Alpha, Anthony was on the skinny side, and a little shorter than average, but he was still half a head taller than Harold, and their bodies fit well together. The comfort that blanketed Harold was more than physical.

Harold tried -- very hard -- not to think about Nathan. The memories were intense, and tangled up in powerful emotions; processing them took a lot out of him, and left the room smelling of anguish and remorse, a bittersweet miasma that he didn’t want John to have to walk into at the start of his day. So he didn’t allow himself to delve into that part of his past unless he could count on a few hours alone in one of his safe houses… which didn’t happen very often.

But now, encased in Anthony’s arms, his emotional shields down while the pheromones dulled the pang of his memories, he couldn’t help but picture -- in scent as much as imagery -- the only Alpha who’d had him more than once. The friend who’d grown so close in just a few weeks that they’d petitioned for an AO dorm mid-quarter (and got it, because Ingram’s family was a major donor to the university). The man who had meant more to him than anyone else in his life, prior to John, and whose absence had left a hole that might never be filled.

 

Eyes drifting closed, Harold went back to those days, when the physical comfort that Nathan provided had become routine. Cuddling on the sofa while they studied. Nuzzling each other while Harold made breakfast. Sharing a morning shower (which the Betas loved to tease him over; without a convenient biological cycle, they seemed to think of _everything_ in terms of sex). Simple physical connections that triggered bonding hormones and leveled out Harold’s emotions, draining away the jangled mix of daily stresses: coursework, personal studies, excessive social contact, even the effort of juggling the aliases that Nathan didn’t even know about. With Nathan, he could count on a level of calm and comfort that he got nowhere else.

They fit together well, and not just physically: their worldviews meshed, their strengths offset each other’s weaknesses, and their keen minds readily followed any line of logic that the other proposed, providing some of the most invigorating discussions that Harold had enjoyed in his entire life. True, Nathan frequently enjoyed social activities that held no interest for the reclusive Harold, while Harold pondered the ramifications of philosophical issues in ways that made Nathan gripe about his lack of human compassion -- but the majority of their mindsets and interests formed a nearly complete overlap.

When the subject had come up, Harold had readily agreed to see to Nathan’s ruts, and Nathan helped with Harold’s less frequent heats; it didn’t take long for their cycles to sync up, which Harold found to be the most convenient aspect of their friendship. No longer was he at the mercy of his biology, or of his classmates -- nothing like a group of college Betas deciding that you’d had your nose in a book too long and ought to be sticking it somewhere else (even if they had to drag you there). Prior to meeting Nathan, he’d had his share of being whisked away from his studies and shoved into a room with a rutting Alpha. The Betas seemed to be extra ‘playful’ around midterms and finals -- but then, schools always allowed for rescheduled exams within a day or two (since roughly eight percent of the class, regardless of how seriously they took their studies, could be counted on to be dealing with their biology during any given test day).

The strongest disconnect between the two of them had been that unlike Nathan, Harold had never cared to establish a bond. It wasn’t, precisely, that he actively disliked the idea; he’d simply gotten too used to his routines to give a fair hearing to the benefits of disrupting them. Perhaps he could have come around if he’d been less busy, or less concerned about his privacy and autonomy, or if he hadn’t invested so much effort into a half-dozen identities that he’d have to jettison if his scent got compromised to that extent (that, or find a way to explain how each identity had gotten into a bond, without tying the bonds back to an Alpha as publicly notable as Nathan Ingram) -- but it was easier just to plan on being single.

Nathan had accepted Harold’s decision, perhaps a bit wistfully. In retrospect, Harold’s actions had been uncommonly cruel; knowing that he didn’t intend to bond with Nathan, he should have pushed the Alpha to sleep around, to stop worrying about Harold’s desire for an uncomplicated sex life that didn’t distract from his studies. If Harold hadn’t been so clingy, Nathan wouldn’t have spent each and every rut with an omega he couldn’t have.

Each time they mated -- when Nathan shoved his knot into Harold and Harold clamped down around it, sealing the physical connection in a burst of overwhelming pleasure -- it was Nathan’s steadfast self-control that kept him from taking the next step, even as their bodies _ached_ for it. The connection was _right there_ , ready to be opened up between them, a stronger pull each time: the bond that the Alpha wanted and the omega, in that moment of joining, could never refuse. But it was the Alpha whose brain stayed rational during a knot, and Nathan had always held back, even as his heat-addled partner _begged_ him for it.

What must that have felt like, being knotted to your best friend as he begs you for a bond that, in his lucid hours, he refused to allow?

 

Anthony’s arms tightened around him, and Harold was pulled out of his memories, enough to recall his circumstances, but far too late to keep his secrets. Around him was a miasma of pain and longing and regret, their mixed odors filling the room, sharp and bitter and pungent.

“He shouldn’t’ve forced you into this,” Anthony said softly. “Not when you’re still in mourning.”

Harold stiffened, for a moment quite speechless.

“I know I’m not the kind of guy you’d want to confide in,” the Alpha continued, “but in case you do need to talk… it might be a good time for it. Before the pheromones wear off and make it more painful to dredge up the memories.”

“I--” Harold swallowed. “What… what made you conclude that I’m in mourning?”

“Known a lot o’ megs. You guys bounce back from just about anything. Never seen one who’s touch-averse without being in mourning… or recently abused. The suits and the pheromones just confirm it.”

Were it not for the pins in his neck, Harold would have tried to look back at Anthony, incredulous. “My suits?”

“What kind o’ meg covers every inch of skin like that? With multiple layers? I mean, yeah, it’s a very nice fabric, and it’s a perfect omega cut and all, and I’ve seen megs dress up that nice now and then. But I’ve literally _never seen you in anything else_. You’re not dressing up, you’re trying to avoid getting touched, and trying to stave off your instincts with the way the outfit squeezes you when you move. I figured maybe you’d been burned or something, that it hurt to get touched or that you were ashamed to let anyone see your body. But these” -- and Anthony nuzzled along the scars at the back of Harold’s neck, eliciting a shudder of pleasure -- “aren’t extensive enough to keep you cellie for two _years_. My guess is, you lost someone incredibly close to you, and in a way that made the wound extra deep. It’s hard to get over that kind of loss.”

Under normal circumstances, Harold would have left before the mobster could ferret out any additional information about him; the Alpha was so tuned in to his pheromones that even silence wouldn’t be enough to hide his answers. But he could already feel the tears quietly pricking at his eyes: The pheromones were the only thing keeping him calm, and leaving the room would bring the emotions crashing down on him that much sooner. He didn’t want to come apart at the seams while in Elias’s care, and couldn’t afford to do so on the way home. Calling John in to rescue him might well escalate the situation, given the distress pheromones he was putting off, which weren’t Anthony’s fault. He couldn’t see any way to escape the situation without making it worse.

Relaxing back into Anthony’s arms, Harold closed his eyes and accepted the fact that his secrets were about to pour forth, even if he never said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh! No! This was meant to be a simple two-chapter piece, **setup** and **resolution** \-- now you've gone and mutated into at least four chapters, what are you _doing_ to me, brain?
> 
> I ended up writing so much extra stuff that after I cut out all the backstory and worldbuilding, what was left still felt like it needed to bring a lot of that stuff back in, in a different format. Possibly flashbacks. This was unexpected and annoyingly unplanned. So much for finishing this piece off nice and quick!

**Author's Note:**

>  **Additional Warnings:**  
>  If you're easily triggered by stuff that treats nonconsensual (but non-traumatizing) sex as "no big deal," this particular worldbuild might not be for you. I tried to push the concept of rape from "forced sex" to "forced bonding," as part of the Omegaverse setup here that treats sex in general as "no big deal." Strip away all the negative consequences of sex (physical, emotional, and social) to make a mostly sex-positive culture, and forcing someone to have sex doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore.
> 
> Forcing someone into a biological shift that significantly affects the mind and emotions, _that's_ a big deal here. It is the cipher for rape, and is treated as such. This move allows me to discuss some topics of rape culture in the opening section of the story, mostly to contrast the action of the story itself, but I think I manage to convey a few important points.
> 
> All that said, the discussion of rape in the opening paragraphs exists specifically for contrast; this is not meant to be a rape fic. It certainly pushes the edges of dub-con, though!
> 
> As usual, I don't write erotica. The sexual encounter occurs offscreen; the second chapter deals with the aftermath. However, I'm never stingy with my ideas, so if anyone's interested in writing that part, go for it! (Multiple variants would also be welcome. Just because one person comes up with an interpretation of what happened doesn't mean another person can't make an equally valid variation.)
> 
> And oh, hey, on that note: Apparently I cut out this section and then forgot to weave it back in. It explains a little more about why nobody cares about first matings, because of the way the biology protects both parties (in contrast to some rather more painful Omegaverse matings I have read):
> 
> _A first mating was neutral ground for both parties. As the hormones wiped away conscious thought, each party tuned in to the other’s reactions -- the feedback through pheromones far more direct and immediate than anything grasped by the conscious mind. The exploration let two bodies get used to each other, to the way they complemented each other; it let them align their immune systems, internalize each other’s scent and breath patterns. It established instincts designed to protect the partner: So long as the rut and sympathetic heat were in control, even a hint of pain or distress would make the partner back off, find a different way to accomplish the goal._
> 
> _So once the dance got started, there was never any chance of harm, which was why few worried about a first mating. No bond was possible without previous encounters, and the rest was just sex, just a few hours spent at the heights of pleasure until the rut wore itself out and the hormones got out of the driver’s seat._
> 
> _Afterwards, there were lingering effects: Scent memory, so they could pick each other out of a crowd, blindfolded. Protective instincts, triggered by adrenaline or the other’s distress pheromones. They were designed to enhance the bond, but, without reinforcement, they would fade. Which was why you didn’t hook up with the same Alpha twice, unless you intended to bond._
> 
>  **Note:** _Normally, when I post a story, I go through it very carefully, to pick up on any noticeable triggers and declare them in the tags or down here. However, I need to get to bed. If I've missed any big ones, let me know in the comments!_


End file.
